Wolf of Silver
by VigilanceOfSilver
Summary: When a member of cult gets changed into a Werewolf and is the target of dark rituals. All of that changes when the Silver Hand attacks. He is escorted out by a handful of members of The Wolf Cult, as he's just been through the final ritual that nobody has survived. Can he overcome the ritual and all of the things that comes with a being a demonically infused werewolf?


I glared from inside the bars. The mages were awake once more, the sun was rising but, it was still late for them to just have awoken. "What do we do about him?" I heard one say as he pointed at my cage. I wondered why they kept me here, their goal was to kill me like everyone else's goal. So, why not get it over with? Why did they feed me and keep me living in luxury behind cold, enchanted bars? I didn't dare move, every instict told me I had to escape, flee, run, fight. Those were conflicting but, my sanity, the one thing that has kept me alive, hasn't faded into the abyss of my senses. I could tell something was happening as they walked over to my cage, it was an acolyte. I waited, the lone brass floor protected me from the silver bars and roof. The door was opened and the second it was wide enough for me to slip through, I leapt. I ripped the arm off, a wolven bloodlust flowing now that I tasted their blood. I looked at the mangled fresh corpse, my eyes hungry as I chased down them as they ran. Some left long dead wolves from the spirit realm to deal with me. I sliced through their soul veins effortlessly. I leapt and killed them one by one. It was down to one, the master of them all, The High Wolf Priest and me, the werewolf they worshipped by caging.

I leapt but, was quickly pushed away by a flame spell. Soon, more of them emerged from behind pillars, covered in mud that hid them. I looked at the corpses, Flame Atronachs faded from the robes that hid their face. "We lost the Acolyte." one spoke as he looked at the corpse. I had fallen for the bait and was barely surviving the flame. "Begin the ritual." The High Wolf Priest spoke as his flames dimished and Telekinesis spells held my limbs back and my head up. For the first time in a long time, the instinct of fight was gone, and terror was in its stead.

The telekinises faded as silver bonds bound and burnt my fur. I struggled to escape but, it was tight and my weakness. I looked up, the sun rose up and struck my furred chest. I felt my muscles tense, my senses wrenched and my bones stung for a second. It was because this was merely my third month that I've had this form. I knew this was the fact and I knew why I was the one. The transformation lasted seconds but, the pain took several minutes to soothe. They were going to do the blood right, a ritual of these cultists during which I will bleed into a vial for the next Acolyte, in case I failed. Everyone failed. Not one Werewolf survived the second ritual. I gazed up as my stomach was pierced by the ebony dagger. I howled in agony as it trickled and glanced around. What would they change about the next ritual, that is, if I survive this agonising pain. I glanced at the Ritual Master, my old brother before I was given the Wolf's Blessing as the cult called it, it was now a curse for me.

I was back in the bars, I gazed out at the cult, It's been a week since the First Ritual, The blood ritual, I had healed thanks to the Curse. I was being brought out now, the cultists, whom I called friends a year ago, guided me, ready to fight with Silver coated ebony blades, A specialty of the cult. I was smart, I remembered how they worked. The Ebony blade was made but, it was dipped in molten silver and then deeply coated with a silver powder after it hardened. This made the blade have a poison, faint enough to paralyze me, or kill me if I was deep enough in a bloodlust. I was strung up by telekinises and guided by the spell, then bound to the stone monolyth. I struggled again then saw it coming. The brand was the size of my arm as a human and as they stepped forward, I saw the rune, blazing hot and orange. It burnt into my skin and branded me, the pain of the molten silver dug deep, burning into my skin as I felt the rune. The Silver from it drifted into vein and they pumped more. Each pump driving me into instanity and then the burn. It was branding into me a rune as old as the cult, older than the empire. It was an elegent curved line, ancient text from the oldest of man's writing. It symbolised Silver Wolf. It carved deep and burnt, my skin reeling and my body feeling as if it was being twisted I saw everything clear as the symbold for Silver was removed. This was supposedly the worst part. Only a handful survived in history, one of the oldest cults.

I felt my body writh and contort as it was removed, hot, oozing blood poured into the mark. Then the second pressed in. The symbol for wolf etched deeper, burning in an ancient symbol of Hircine and his weakness. It was rumored Hircine and his Champions alone survived this. I howled loud, louder than ever before, agonising and writing from the bonds. The seal burnt my flesh more, this was pain. This was more pain than when I was first transformed when it took hours and the pain took days to settle. I broke the bonds as the second seal passed back. Two others survived this before me.

Then, they came. The Silver Hand, brandishing the weapons the cult created to kill off those of us driven mad. I was bound as the cult fought them off. "Bel, go, take your mages and the wolf, we shall fend them off." The High Wolf Priest spoke. The war broke out and I followed in my wolf like form.

Not all of us made it, most died on the way. I'd like to say by Silver Hand or Wild Animals. It was me. Three of the Cultists lived, as did I. I was in my human form and looked at them. It was Bellia, Bel as most of us had called her, that stood out. She was a breton I had fallen for when I was human. I had robes brought to me whenever I turned back. I looked towards the smoke of the cliff we had called home. I gazed at it, no tears fell like they did from the others. Triumph shone. The high priest, my birth father, had died when I had been forced to turn. "Where are we?" I asked before Bel answered almost instantly. "Riften, the nearest city." She spoke before cutting off the leg of a deer she killed. I looked at it with a fierce hunger. "It's not for you, Silver." She replied with the closest a human could do with a growl. I hated the name. When we went through the transformation, werewolves of their cult gave names of the object the now werewolves would have. Mine was my Silver necklace, So I was named Silver. I replied with a angry growl before trotting away to hunt for another meal. The moon was high and so was my hunger.

I roared loud as I charged for the deer, leaping forward and grabbing its horns with my claws. I then sunk my teeth deep around its spine and tore it out before ripping it open, my hind claws tore into its stomach. My claws kept me in as it's spirit finished departing. I howled in the middle of eating it. Thats when I heard it, a scream ahead of me, I charged that way. My fangs and claws bloodied from the deer.


End file.
